True heroes seem few in our modern world. At least the ones that are Godly. A few weeks ago, I wrote about Elisabeth Elliot. And before that, Meriam Ibrahim. Both amazing women. Great role-models. I am grateful for their influence in my life, but if it weren’t for my very first hero, I don’t think I would have even paid any attention to Elizabeth OR Miriam. I would not have been attracted to their message.

My hero. My Mom.
My earliest hero, as for many of us, was my Mom. She continues to inspire me, even though she died when I was a young girl. I don’t remember her ever complaining, even though most of my memories of her are of her being ill. Cancer. We all hate that word, don’t we?

I don’t know if I even knew what was wrong. (I don’t think anyone even said that “C” word out loud!) What I did know was that often my Mom was NOT at home with me and my brother and my Father. And I knew my Dad was often at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore Maryland. He devotedly loved her. You can see that in the picture. It was actually taken at the hospital.

Neglected? Poor?
I suppose many would say I was neglected. But I don’t remember feeling that way. I suppose many would say we were poor. But I don’t remember feeling that way, either. It was what it was and we all just flowed with it. We found ways to make it work.

My first taste of God
My parents…especially my Mom…gave me my first taste of God. Of faith. Of what it is like to suffer with dignity and without grumbling. She was cheerful and encouraging. Whenever she was back home from the hospital (often staying weeks at a time), people flocked to her.

That’s where she died.
At home. In a hospital bed. In a room on the main level, converted to make her as comfortable as possible. She was “AVAILABLE”. Always available to any and all.

How did she do it?
She is my hero because she was all that I hope to be as a Christian woman someday. I do wish I could have talked to her about how she managed to inspire that deep devotion from my Father. Her husband. How they managed to love so deeply under so much financial and emotional stress. Yet, looking at their picture, you can see for yourself. They were in love. She died at 47 years of age. Sad, huh? My Dad never re-married. He was devoted to raising my brother and me (my sister was already grown and married). And I sense that he felt no one could replace his beloved Hannah.

I always knew I was loved.
My mother loved me. My father loved me. Their love made it easy for me to understand The Heavenly Father and The Heavenly Bridegroom. Fully devoted to me. Loving me deeply enough to do whatever it took to draw me close and to keep me there.

I was RICH in all the ways that mattered.
And now that I am a Follower of the Way (a Christ-follower), I am RICHER still.

I am grateful beyond what I am capable of expressing.

Who inspires YOU? And why? Please share.

Until next time…